Too Much of a Gentleman
by Ladyinshiningarmour
Summary: Jo, Laurie and a bucketful of angst and denial. AU from before Laurie marries Amy.
1. Sisters and Brothers

**A/N: This is AU from when Laurie and Amy return from Europe. They're engaged but not married, that is. It's been quite long since I've last read the book, so if you spot any incongruities, do correct me. Thanks! :)**

**Disclaimer: **_**Little Women**_** and its characters belong to L.M.A.. If I actually owned them, do you really think I'd let that miserable, snivelling Amy marry Laurie? Or let Jo marry that ancient Professor? Humph.**

* * *

**Too Much of a Gentleman**

_**Sisters and Brothers**_

Hands fisted, Laurie stood transfixed in something akin to horror as the words of the ongoing conversation drifted to him from behind the half-opened door.

"…If you'd just give your word, I will be eternally grateful and I promise to make you happy for the rest of my life, no matter what it takes."

As if in a masochistic trance, he inched closer to the door until the room's occupants were in sight—even though he was already pretty sure of their identities. From his position, he spied the German Professor's back tilted at an angle to the door; and a certain March sister an arm's length away.

"Miss Josephine, please. I'd understand if you do not wish to marry an old man like me, but I beg you: please give me an answer quickly, for this waiting and ignorance wrecks havoc on my soul," Bhaer shuffled forward minutely, taking a hand in both of his.

Jo raised her dark eyes from their position on the ground and for a heart-stopping moment Laurie suddenly found them locked onto his own, before she shifted her gaze onto the Professor's face. Then she spoke—

"Yes."

And he felt her words like a silver dagger plunged into his heart, even as he continued watching them in some self-inflicted torture; the German Professor holding _his_ Jo the way _he_ used to, the way _he_ longed to.

As the man stepped away from the embrace and opened his mouth to speak, Laurie finally found himself unable to witness any more of the unfolding scene and silently staggered to the stairway, crumpling into a heap at the lowermost step. His rational side urged him to leave before they emerged, but it was as if he could not salvage strength enough to stand, much less make his way back home, for _his Jo was lost to him forever_.

They exited the room moments later, and it seemed that neither noticed his slumped figure by the stairs as Jo led the Professor to the front door. As the door shut, whatever strength that had deserted him earlier suddenly rushed back into his limbs as he flung himself into the path of a startled Jo, whose shock soon melted into a mask of coldness.

"You were eavesdropping on us," She accused, swallowing, as she sidestepped him to advance into the parlour.

Swiftly, Laurie caught her by her upper-arms and turned her towards him. She didn't bother evading his grasp upon a single failed attempt of a shrug, but merely cast her eyes beyond his shoulders.

"No," was his monosyllabic answer.

This time, her eyes filled with unbridled ire as they shot to his, her sharp chin angled in the familiar defiant way uniquely Jo.

"Stop lying Laurie. I saw you behind the door."

"I was just coming over to check on you and merely arrived at what was apparently the wrong time."

"Stop making excuses. You were clearly eavesdropping. Besides, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at Meg's with Amy and Marmee?"

She spat her words bitterly, angrily, twisting—successfully, this time—out of his grasp and widening the distance between them.

He made the connection almost instantaneously, fuelled by his own irrational, lovesick-tainted disposition—her bitterness, her coldness, her hasty acceptance of Bhaer's proposal of marriage: "You love me,"—uttered in a revered whisper.

She flinched at his words. "Christopher Columbus, Laurie. Of course I love you—you're practically my brother—don't you know that by now? In fact, you'll be my brother by law once you marry Amy."

"No," He stepped closer, effectively cornering her. "You're jealous of Amy, aren't you? And you've realised that you've loved me all along now that we're engaged." His words tumbled out breathlessly, hopefully.

"What do you mean 'jealous'?" She let out a nervous laugh—it sounded so even to her own ears. "I've got my own wedding to plan; why would I be jealous of my sister?"

At the mention of her impending marriage, his face darkened.

"You're jealous because I proposed to Amy even though you rejected me, and that she accepted." He stepped closer, still, until barely two hand-spans' worth of space remained between their bodies. "You're jealous because I'm going to marry her, not you. You," hands braced on the wall behind her, he leant closer as his voice dropped to a whisper, "Are jealous because you think I love her."

Heart beating wildly, Jo placed shaking hands on his shoulders in an attempt at pushing the young man away. "I'd appreciate some personal space, if you please," she muttered in a half-hearted semblance of indignant offense.

Ignoring her, he proceeded softly. "But I don't, Jo," A hand moved to cup her cheek, tilting her face towards his. "Can't you see how much I love you?"

Old Jo came back within seconds as he felt a sharp stinging pain where she slapped his cheek, effectively dislodging his hold on her.

"How dare you say that, when I'm engaged to Professor Bhaer; _when you're engaged to_ my sister _Amy_?" Where it was bitter before, her voice dripped acidic venom as she whispered her words in an enraged hiss. As she lifted a hand to push him out of her way, however, she found her wrist once again held captive by his fingers.

"If I hadn't proposed to her, would you have married me?" At his words, Jo wordlessly turned her face away to hide her crumbling mask of indifference, unwilling to reveal the effect his agonised voice had on her emotions.

"Please let me go, Laurie." She tugged at her wrist, determined to make a civil exit.

"If I wasn't engaged to Amy, you wouldn't have accepted that Professor of yours, would you?"

"Laurie, please—"

"You wouldn't have, would you?"

"Just—"

"You can't marry him, Jo. You don't love him. I know you, Jo; you think you do, but you don't."

Frustrated at his frequent interruption, Jo reluctantly put her hand over his lips in a bid to silence his string of words and was surprised to find that he made no attempt to break away.

"And just _who_ do you think you are to say who I love and who I don't? And who I marry? Grow up, Laurie; you're not the only one who's allowed to marry, and I'm not falling for whatever absurd ploy you've concocted to keep me from it!"

At this juncture, his hand firmly pulled hers away from his mouth and to the side of his face.

"You think this is a ploy to keep you from marrying,"—it was a statement, voiced in incredulity.

"Yes." She responded succinctly; chin once again jutting out defensively. "I know you're too much of a gentleman to actually mean what you said about loving me when you're engaged to Amy. And I'm sorry about judging you without thinking and for that slap."

"No," he brought her other hand to his other cheek, and pressing her hands against the sides of his face, he continued in a low, desperate plea "Slap me a hundred, a thousand, a million times, Jo. You can slap me until my cheeks bleed, but I meant what I said before—I love you, Jo March."

Suddenly weary, Jo sagged in resignation. "Stop joking around, Teddy. This isn't a time for your pranks—not now that we're all grown up and both affianced."

"This isn't a joke—do you know how long I've been trying to wish it away?" He laughed bitterly, brokenly. "You want to know why I proposed to Amy? Remember that day you rejected me? You said you wouldn't ever want to marry. I told you that you would, and that I wouldn't stand by and watch some other man marry you—and I won't. I'd almost believed you at first; that's why I decided to marry Amy—I'd decided to settle for some part of you if you wouldn't have me, and continue to love you however you'd allow for anyone to. You promised me you wouldn't marry—that's why I let you go; and now you tell me you're going to marry some old German Professor who you've known for barely a year?"

"Teddy…"

"What exactly is wrong with me, Jo? I promise you I'll change for you; I'll be however you want me to be—just; love me, Jo. Say you do. Say you'll marry me." Laurie ended breathlessly, clasping her hands to his heart, eyes alit with frustration and passionate fervour in a déjà vu of that afternoon a few years back.

Jo's breath caught at the raw emotion in his eyes, and quickly withdrew her hands, casting her gaze upon the floor lest he saw the conflicting emotions within her own. "I'm promised to him, Teddy. I'm sorry you feel that way," she managed to get out in a normal sounding voice, before turning completely away to hide the tears that had finally escaped. _I do love you, dear,_ she wanted to tell him. But she couldn't do this to Amy and Fritz. And she couldn't love him the way he wanted her to; even though she did—but he didn't need to know that.

A few moments of silence passed before she heard her boy stir.

"I'm sorry to have caused you such inconvenience, Miss March. Please accept my apologies for intruding," Came a painfully polite voice that sounded so unlike her Laurie that she spun around immediately without any regard to the twin tracks of tears upon her face, to find herself face to face with Laurie's forbidding figure striding swiftly out of the door; back ramrod straight and head held arrogantly high.

And though her heart cried out to him, she merely permitted herself a pathetic, trembling whisper.

"I'm sorry, my boy."

* * *

**A/N: So I've been reflecting (and have received feedback) that Jo's a little OOC here, but I've always wanted to see a little more angst between Jo and Laurie, so yeah. I promise to try my best to make Jo more in-character!**


	2. Second Chances, Or something like that

**A/N: So I decided that I'll continue with this. Again, it's been quite long since I've last read the book, so do let me know of any plot inconsistencies. That being said, do note that my story is partially AU, so for its purposes, Amy and Laurie are engaged but not married when they get back from Europe, Beth is (unfortunately) dead, and the Professor has returned with Jo to (as previously described) propose.**

**And so we get rid of Amy, mwahahahaha. Heh.**

* * *

**Too Much of a Gentleman**

_**Second Chances (Or something like that)**_

He was standing in the Marches' Garden a few days later when it came.

"I was just the replacement, wasn't I?"

Laurie flinched inwardly, but said nothing, carefully wiping his face of all emotion.

"You loved her—you _love_ her. And I'm just the replacement, aren't I?"

Still unspeaking, he turned his back to her and paced to the other end of the garden.

She hurried after him, skirts lifted slightly off the ground, slippered-feet pattering lightly on the earth.

"I'm not blind, Laurie. I know you've always thought of me as Jo's young and naïve little sister, but I'm not—" she began in a hushed, heated tone, only to be interrupted by him.

"I _will_ abide by any vows I will make as your husband." His voice was circumspectly neutral, albeit firm.

"Husband!"—ghosting the edge of hysteria. "No; it's always been about her, hasn't it?"

Again, he was silent.

She breathed deeply, composing herself into the ladylike countenance she'd always prided herself on.

"Fine…fine." She swallowed. "I've always looked up to her, you know," smiling bitterly, she turned her unseeing gaze to the rose bushes they were facing. "She's always been the leader, the protector. Meg was our second Marmee, but Jo's always been our sword and shield. And then she befriended you," Amy gave a dry, humourless bark of laughter. "And we all saw how much you adored her—Meg, Beth and I. Jo was mostly ignorant, to think of it. Ironic, isn't it?"

_No, not ignorant—just scared_, he wanted to say. But he didn't.

"I was jealous of Jo, I think. I still am," she continued still staring blankly into the bushes. "She's not so pretty, and she can't do anything ladylike properly, yet everyone loves her," an absent frown crept upon her face. "And she's got you."

"No," His voice was hoarse. "She's got Bhaer."

She ignored him.

"I—" she began, then took a fortifying breath. "I'm leaving for Paris in three days to visit my friends, the Mauniers; and I want to end this."

"End this," he echoed blankly, and turned to face her for the first time.

"I'm letting you go, Laurie," she met his puzzled gaze shakily. "Un-engaging us, if you will. Since you," a gulp, "Since I know that she's the only one for you."

As comprehension dawned on him, it seemed as though a weight had been lifted for a moment, then he remembered Jo's fierce loyalty to her sisters—she would never forgive him: "I promise to be a good husband to you." But his voice was mechanical and devoid of emotion.

"No, Laurie," Amy's voice had once again retained a shadow of its usual flippant, socialite's timbre. "As I told my sisters before, I'll only marry for love. And although I know you love all of us well, that type of love—the kind that marriage is built upon—is reserved only for her. I understand, Laurie; truly, I do."

He stared at her fair, heart-shaped face—so different from his Jo's angular, sun-kissed one.

"Amy…I—"

"No, Laurie," she repeated firmly, eyes capturing his in a determined gaze. "We'd be unhappy if there ever was a union between us. Think about it, won't you?" And softly, "Please, don't put us through something that we'll all regret for the rest of our lives."

"But your parents…think about the shame, Amy. I can't and won't put you through this," he protested, struggling to quash an inner desire to concede.

"Oh, they'll forgive us," she countered dismissively. "We can say that I decided that I didn't want to be married to you after all—which is the truth, really. Besides, I'm going away; most likely until the 'scandal' dies down. I'll give it a month or so."

"But your family, Amy," he stressed, genuinely concerned about the reputation of his kindly neighbours which he had grown to love as family.

"And who, exactly, have we told about the engagement?" she pointed out. "Beyond our immediate families, I don't recall anyone else being informed."

"Grandfather's servants will gossip," he began, only to be cut off by her.

"That's just that: gossip. And it _is_ within expectation for me to do something as 'rash' as this. People will be appalled at whatever gossip they may garner, I'm sure. But I'm also fairly certain that no one will be overly shocked." She shot him a wry grin so reminiscent of Jo's that he couldn't suppress the ghost of a smile that flitted across his face.

Seeing that he was teetering, she pressed on. "In all honesty, there was someone else for me, you know. So you see; we'll both get our second chances this way."

Hopeful, curious eyes darted to her face at the first part of her sentence, and he quickly combed through faces of his recollection in Europe and beyond—"Fred Vaughn."

She said nothing, but the pink flush that swiftly spread across her cheeks was assent enough.

"He's in Paris, then," he commented casually, upon which the pinkish tint intensified, confirming his conjecture.

Just as quickly as her blush had appeared, she abandoned the maidenly affectation, turning pleading eyes to him. "Please, Laurie," hand grasping his forearm in a childish gesture of persuasion.

If she only knew how tempting it seemed, he thought wryly, eyes longingly trailing upward to Jo's bedroom window. Just then, dark orbs connected with his for but a fraction of a second, before the figure disappeared from the window with a twitch of the curtains; but it was enough for him to come to his decision:

"Okay," He whispered, closing his eyes, "okay."

When he opened his eyes, she was standing before him, scanning his face as if she were looking for something. Then she pushed herself onto her toes and pressed a sisterly kiss onto his cheek, and whispered fiercely "There's time yet, Theodore Laurence. Make her see, and stop her from marrying someone she'll regret. She loves you, you know,"—and she was gone, traipsing into the kitchen.

The sun was setting; and as Laurie stood in the March garden, basking in the amber glow of dusk, he could distinctly detect the chime of Amy's voice in the kitchen, her happy chattering (to Hannah, most likely), but all that came to him in that moment were her parting words.

_She loves you, you know._

But she won't marry me, Amy, he wanted to tell her.

But of course, he didn't.

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**A/N: Okay, here's another (longer) A/N, if you're still reading, haha. I agree with what some of you pointed out (that Jo was kind of OOC in the last chapter), and will try to create a more in-character Jo during her following appearances, but I apologise in advance if I don't manage to do so (I so desperately wished for a heart-ache-y twist between Jo and Laurie and _then_ a happy ending, but too bad LMA had a temporary bout of muddle-headedness and put Laurie with Amy D:). I _almost_ feel bad for Amy here, though. Anyway, how was this chapter? Too much conversation? Was it too confusing? Thanks in advance for feedback!**


	3. Fancy's Fool

**A/N: Okay, so this is a filler chapter (sorry about it!) to get things moving along-because I couldn't take the physical obstacles (ie: Bhaer and Amy) any longer haha. Thank you (thankyouthankyouthankyou) for all your continuous support and reviews and favourites and alerts despite my very few-and-far-between updates! For the record, I _am_ making an effort to update my stories midway through the semester (as you would've noticed if you see that my Old Kingdom/Abhorsen story has been updated)-aren't you proud of me? :D**

**Disclaimer: Louisa May Alcott's.**

* * *

**Too Much of a Gentleman**

_**Fancy's Fool**_

In putting off sharing the news with her family, Jo was purposely avoiding finalising their engagement: Professor Bhaer knew this for a fact—just as surely as he knew that Jo's decision not to announce their engagement had something to do with her young neighbour. Her very expression during that particular conversation had sent invisible tremors of foreboding through his soul.

"_I'm sorry," she told him, mournfully, as Jo-like as he had ever known. "Please understand; I don't take well to change—I never have. And marriage is as large a step as there is."_

_Wordlessly, he eyed her earnest, pleading face as she rambled on in feeling._

"_I don't mean to hurt your feelings or anything, dear Fritz—it's just," She exhaled in frustration, her dark eyes revealing a sincere inner conflict. "Please, I need some time to _think_ about this."_

_He had consented readily that afternoon—but a day after his proposal had been accepted. Yet, he had known that despite the authenticity of her claim of an aversion to change, part of her hesitancy took root in the form of the young Laurence chap._

His comfort stemmed from the knowledge that the boy was engaged to Jo's sister.

* * *

Growing up, Josephine March had always prided herself on her independence, thriving on her role as the pillar of support for her sisters. While she never seemed to be able to attain the feminine grace they had ingrained within their behaviour, she comforted herself with the knowledge that none of them bested her in her duties as protector and sentry; and that had always been enough for her vanity.

She took her role very much to heart, distancing herself from any exceptionally ladylike behaviour that etiquette did not deem compulsory; and devoted heart and soul into an existence straddling a great literary daydream and her life, the latter of which revolved around a self-imposed responsibility to see to the happiness of loved-ones—something which she had always been able to place above her own yearnings…up till now. For it seemed that she had fallen prey to what she once regarded as silly and impractical: a fancy—and the subject of which was her sister's beloved and her childhood playmate, no less.

What she once only took to in her fictional realms and had previously avoided at all costs in real life, she now underwent with a tinge of self-disgust and helplessness. The irrational jealously and possessiveness, the overly-ardent affection—she knew it well from the nib of her pen, yet it was only now that she experienced it all in Jekyll-Hyde fashion: one moment on the brink of declaring her undying love, the next reflecting on her actions in horror and self-scorning cynicism.

A more level-headed and emotionally-controlled individual would have possessed the patience to sift through these convoluted emotions and circumstances—and Sensible Jo would have steadily worked through such a tangle from the point of view of one of her many lovelorn heroines on any normal day. But Sensible Jo seemed to have presently taken a long hiatus just as the Jekyll-and-Hyde affliction set in, and so it was rather unsurprising that the second March daughter found a constant companion in hysteria in the days following the confrontation with her neighbour.

She did, however, gather enough of her wits between spells to mitigate the situation to the best of her ability; namely, by delaying the announcement of her engagement to her family.

She knew, of course, that fancies would pass-and she was fairly certain that this particular persistent affliction was exactly that: a passing fancy, albeit an overpowering one that seemed to be getting the better of her.

Her main concern was how she would be able to resist the temptation of succumbing to her foolish, emotional heart in the wake of Laurie's ridiculous romantic notions.

However much she loved her boy; however much he thought he loved her, Josephine March knew for a fact that she was the complete antithesis of the wife that a gentleman of his social standing ought to marry. He'd be better off with someone who cared for the latest fashion, who would be able to garner acceptance from other ladies of the upper-crust, regardless of how contrived that amiability would actually be. She'd be _miserable_ doing just that; and then she'd be grouchy and moody and they'd row over consecutive days because she would be in such an irritable mood from some dinner party or other.

No doubt she loved Laurie-but it wasn't the type for 'lovering', as he wished. It just wasn't practical for them beyond friendship.

She only cursed the fact that her fancy had taken root at this juncture in her life; and that she had so carelessly let Theodore Laurence get wind of it.

And so Jo March decided to wipe the chalk scribbles off the figurative slate and relinquish the Professor's offer of marriage, while conjuring a sense of renewed determination in resisting a certain neighbour's stubborn ideas as well as that of her emotional psyche until the fancy faded.

Professor Bhaer left for New York three days after Amy boarded the ship to Paris.

Whether or not they noticed the coincidence, no one mentioned anything about the sudden departure of the German Professor so soon after the youngest March daughter's. In particular, not a word was uttered about the fact that the announcement of Amy and Laurie's broken engagement preceded said abrupt departures.

Yet, the implications remained glaringly obvious to the people in the March and Laurence households; and it cast them into a viscous clay of awkwardness-or at least it felt thus to Jo. And so, heeding one of Marmee's philosophies about the importance of busying one's self, she threw herself into her everyday activities; writing and gardening and cleaning and baking with renewed fervour-the latter to the amusement of Hannah.

As her days fell into a pleasant rhythm, the awkwardness had seemed to have almost dissolved completely until the tranquil facade shattered one afternoon.

She should've seen it coming, really-she'd initially been conscientious in taking pains to avoid being alone with Laurie for long, but soon took for granted his acquiescence to her efforts in minimising personal interaction between themselves. Lulled into a false sense of security, she gradually let her guard down, only to be accosted while she sat in the garden one day, book laid face down beside her as she basked, shut-eyed, in the afternoon sun.

So engrossed was she in her meandering thoughts, that she barely registered footsteps in the grass until the person settled beside her and spoke.

"Hello, Jo."

* * *

**A/N: ...and that sets the stage for the drama I'm all excited about. Hee :D**

**Anyway, I've been trying to evolve Jo into someone who's trying (albeit struggling, but trying nonetheless) to articulate her feelings; because I always felt that it would've been more reasonable for her character to behave such given her attachment to Beth (and Beth's subsequent death). I wanted my Jo less emotionally invulnerable because she had to have an outlet for emotional dependency given the blow of a sister's death, and her loneliness with the house (her previous emotional stronghold) suddenly much emptier. At the same time, I wanted her to remain the independent-thinking, logical heroine I've always admired, hence the head and heart thing-which is essentially the crux of the Jo/Laurie loveliness. Does this make sense?**


	4. Friends and Lovers

**A/N: A great big thank you to all who reviewed, your words mean alot to me, truly (even if I don't reply you personally because I always barely find enough energy after school/work to tend to urgent errands). As a token of my gratitude, I tried to churn out a longer chapter for you all. **

**Personally not too happy with it myself, but I figured that I needed to update soon, and this is what I've managed to come up with.  
**

**Disclaimer: LMA's genius, not mine.**

* * *

**Too Much of a Gentleman**

_**Friends and Lovers  
**_

She was avoiding him; blatantly and with a gusto so essentially _Jo_, that he'd grudgingly conceded to her avoidance -albeit temporarily.

However, her spike-rimmed fortress gradually receded with the passing days. Whether or not it was a conscious move on her part, he picked up on it immediately and moved in for his ambush, as she lay resting in the March garden one afternoon.

Her book - a well-worn paperback of Shakespeare's _Much Ado About Nothing_ -lay face-down, apparently abandoned for the warm sunshine, as the owner of said book basked in the warm rays of the sun.

Her eyes were closed, and there was some sort of peaceful, subtle contentedness underlying the contours of her mien: it was an expression he'd once often been graced with back in the days, one that had been traded for little indiscernible frowns and carefully-donned masks of vagueness.

So he stopped a few strides from where his literary neighbour reclined unsuspectingly, to take in the sight, half-heartedly attempting to suppress the concoctions of a foolishly fanciful mind:

_Jo, eyes opening upon the telltale rustle of his approaching footsteps, smiling happily up at him as loving arms opened for an embrace._

And further

_Jo, head bent over a book, reading aloud the novel in her trademark flair to the child perched in her lap. And as he wandered over to their spot, twin pairs of dark eyes would dart upon his figure, following which, simultaneous greetings, tinged with affection,_

_"Father!"_

_"Teddy!"_

His breath caught.

Then he shook his head with an internal sardonic chuckle, stepping forth to settle beside his girl.

* * *

"Hello, Jo."

Jo started, a sinking dread sending a barely perceptible shudder down her spine.

Awkwardly, she pushed herself up into an upright position, and was contemplating making an escape, when he halted her train of thought with a single word;

"Don't," uttered lowly, underlying a multitude of emotions and meanings.

She couldn't begin to comprehend their implications-wouldn't, but understood enough to see reason in abandoning her half-formed plans of avoidance. She had to face him sooner or later.

Deflating momentarily in defeat, she folded her legs, Indian-style and angled her face away in subtle protest, one hand twisted into the folds of her skirt and the other resting on the grass, ready to boost herself off-_if she decided against staying, after all_.

They sat in a silent impasse for a whole minute before two voices started in unison.

"Ted-"

"Jo-"

And dark gazes caught and held as they turned to face each other-barely friends, not quite lovers, but somewhere in between.

It was Laurie who broke the moment, letting out a humourless bark of laughter.

Jo supposed she could see the irony of their situation, so closely resembling one of their childhood plays, yet so vastly different. And yet, they'd acted out so many scenes similar to this, that it seemed like all she had to do was stand up, brush off her skirt, and offer him a hand up before they'd go tripping down the lane for one of their usual rambles.

"This isn't one of our plays anymore, Jo."

She glanced up at his voice in mild surprise, before looking away again. Of course, they'd been friends for far too long, that they'd go down the same vein of thought as well shouldn't be anything out of the ordinary.

Suddenly, a bout of desperation of unknown origin surged to her throat, and the words burst forth in a jumble, "Teddy, _please_."

It seemed as if with those three syllables, a floodgate triggered within her-a paroxysm of thoughts and words built up from the past days of ignoring and hiding, some of which she'd never thought she'd tell _anyone_, much less him.

"I don't want to do this anymore-I can't stand not being friends with you. Why can't we go on just like we were?" A deep breath, then quieter, "I _do_ love you, my boy, but not the way you're imagining it. I'm not," a gulp, " in love with you."

Then she found herself clasped against him, cheek against chest, head tucked beneath his chin, as one arm snaked desperately around her waist and the other found its way to the nape of her neck, trapping her in some frantic embrace.

"You _can_ though, can't you? With enough time...I'll wait however long it takes if it means you'll be with me."

She felt rather than heard the tortured plea as he exhaled it fervently into her hair; and her breath hitched, but despite the part of her that ached from the suffering her boy was going through, she knew the direction her next words had to take. _It was for the best, for their futures_, she reminded herself shakily. However deeply her affection ran at the moment, her fancy would pass, and then he'd be waiting for something that would never be. She couldn't-_wouldn't_-subject him to a lifetime of false hope: he deserved someone who could guarantee a reciprocation for the heart and soul he was offering in matrimony.

* * *

Theodore Laurence was, by nature, an active being. He thrived in the passing of time and the progressing of an activity, always eager and bursting to experience and perceive the unfurling of events. It was a similarity that formed the basis of the connection he shared with Jo: their love for Life and its bustling dynamism. This trait of his once manifested in bratty impatience as a child, but through his acquaintance with the Marches, he developed other more constructive outlets for this innate energy. More importantly, he grew to appreciate the present; to pause, to commit to memory little moments that he would later on draw comfort from in the depths of his mind-most of which, in retrospect, involved a certain harum-scarum March sister.

At that moment, however-with her clasped as close as she'd ever been to him, and the lack of any sort of a struggle on her part-Laurie was torn between crystallising the moment and impatience for it to pass.

It was too easy to pretend away all the heartache, that she'd never rejected him that afternoon-or perhaps that he'd simply not asked then, that he'd gently nudged her along with subtle touches and had eased her into the depths of his affections, and that she was currently grasping onto him as desperately as he was her.

But then her hoarse voice broke the spell. "I can't," and through the embrace, he felt her form convulse in a single trembling, silent sob. "I can't, and I don't want to hurt you anymore." Then she inhaled, seemingly to steel herself, before finishing quietly, "So please, don't get your hopes up on me. You need someone who can."

She had managed to extract herself from her previous position during the denouement of her speech, but his long, pianist's fingers swiftly darted to her slender forearms, imprisoning them in a resolute hold.

"I _need_ you." The words burst vehemently from his lips; plea and retort simultaneously.

She immediately tensed, tugging at her hands fiercely, even as he held on adamantly. Her reply came then, when she realised that he wasn't relinquishing his hold, "Not this way."

He made a decision then-they'd gone on too long like this, and he was tired, and his heart had fluttered and shattered over again to the nuance of her voice, to the spark in her gaze-too many times within the past few weeks. But before he could utter a word, she spoke again, voice beseeching, "_Please_, Teddy; I'm hurting you, like this."

"_Then _love_ me, Jo!_"

Their eyes locked, anguish and frustration mirrored perfectly in each others'.

She was the first to break the stare, wrenching her gaze away with a visibly clenched jaw, trying again to shake off his grip, to no avail.

Exhaling noisily, he finally vocalised what he'd resolved to mere seconds ago. "Fine, if that's what you really want, I'll stop." Surprised eyes snapped up to his, but he continued forcefully; "I'll be your sodding friend, and watch you get swept off your feet by some Chaucer-spouting Dandy, and marry him, have five children." _And love him, and sleep and wake by side_, his added in his mind, bitterly.

Then, to complete her confusion, he released her arms gently.

"Just...once and for all, break my heart properly, won't you?" His voice was overly light, and he knew that they could both detect it. "Tell me to my face to leave you alone forever," he swallowed audibly, "and I will."

* * *

**A/N: In retrospect, this may be a _tad_ too dramatic for Jo and Laurie in the book's context, but I figured that if Laurie had just held on a little bit longer, he would've had it in him, and if anyone could provoke Jo into such drama it _would_ be Laurie. Thoughts?  
**


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